


can't anybody find me somebody to love

by meathermac



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Everything's Fine, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Apocalypse Shenanagins, Swearing, and when i say original fern character i mean it, get-together, i literally don't know what inspired me to write this, i mean i mention like seven other characters in the last paragraph but it's fine, i wrote like two sentences and it turned into a 2.5k fic but it's fine, it's deadass a fern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meathermac/pseuds/meathermac
Summary: when you've been alive for six thousand years, aziraphale thinks, it's very easy to not notice little things.however, when the so-called 'little thing' is the fact that your best friend has definitely been in love with you for roughly all six thousand years you've known him, one could argue that he should have noticed by now.instead, it takes an apocalypse, a helpful fern, and a very determined witch to get this all figured out.





	can't anybody find me somebody to love

**Author's Note:**

> please don't ask me why i wrote this i do not know 
> 
> title is uh, kinda stupid but also from the queen song 'somebody to love'
> 
> sure, i could have slept instead of writing this, but where's the fun in that 
> 
> shoutout to thelowlysatsuma for encouraging me to post this... thing

It is two days after the failed apocalypse when Aziraphale comes to Crowley’s flat to just “hang out”, as the humans put it. [1] 

[1. Adam and the rest of the Them have taken to teaching Aziraphale what they call slang. Newt and Anathema find it hilarious. Crowley agrees.]

And they do, in fact, hang out, and they talk for a bit, about this and that, and what the rest of the saviors of the world are up to at this point. 

It’s only a few hours later, after about a bottle and a half of wine, that the two of them are all but laying on top of each other on the couch. 

But it’s nice. After the world nearly ended, and he nearly died, multiple times, Crowley just can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it anymore. 

And so it's not a bad thing, Crowley thinks, as he nestles closer to Aziraphale's side, that it feels so good to be this close to the angel, to be touching, to feel his warmth against Crowley's own body, it's not a bad thing because Crowley still remembers the feeling of Aziraphale saying he won't run away with him. 

Crowley still remembers that feeling, because it feels like falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

all over again.

It's a day later that Crowley wonders if it's still “hanging out” after almost two full days of staying in the same house, or if maybe Anathema has a word for it if Adam doesn't. She is American, after all.

And it's while they're watching some mindless TV show about cops in the American city of Brooklyn when Crowley thinks about how he feels when Zira leaves him, left him, when Crowley thought he'd lost him, like he Fell again, and he realizes that Aziraphale has never once asked him why he fell from heaven. 

He knows angels aren't allowed to be curious. Hel - Heav -  _ Somewhere _ , he knows that better than Zira does, because Crowley is a perfect example of what happens when angels are curious. 

But he asks anyways, because Aziraphale isn’t completely an angel anymore, not after the whole Armageddon nonsense. 

"Aren't you curious?" he asks, not even bothering to look up from the TV. 

'Zira glances at him. "About?"

Crowley shrugs. "Well, I could have just meant in general, but... about why I Fell?"

"Well, yes, dear. But it's personal, so I never asked." He turns back to the book he's engrossed in, seemingly assuming the conversation is over. 

He suppresses yet another shiver at "dear", even though it's roughly the billionth time the angel has called him that in the millennia they've known each other. "I asked too many questions." 

"Well, I knew that part..." Aziraphale trails off, looking back at Crowley. 

"I asked them what love felt like. If it was possible to love as an angel." 

"Love?"

"Love," Crowley confirms, starting to wonder if this whole thing is worth it. 

Aziraphale blushes involuntarily and says, "What did they say?" 

"Well, they never really told me, angel." He reaches over and starts to play with the collar on Zira's shirt. "I had to find out for myself." 

"Find - find out what?" Aziraphale stammers, currently the color of a tomato. 

"Why, whether it was possible to love an angel," Crowley replies, laughing. 

"And is it?"

He nods, almost imperceptibly. 

Zira seems to gain a bit of his confidence back at this point, and he asks, "How do you know?" 

"Oh, Zira." Crowley sighs. "Because I fell in love with you." 

And then Aziraphale is kissing him, and Crowley's kissing back, and it is possible, it really is, and Heaven never needed to answer because Crowley knows now, it is possible, and it's wonderful.

\--

It's been a week. 

A week since they kissed, since the most magical thing that has ever happened in Crowley's immortal life, since the kiss that even a demon could only describe as heavenly. 

It's been a week since Crowley told Zira that he loved him, and a week since the angel said it back. 

And boy oh boy, they have barely said a word to each other since it happened. 

Which is just great, it really is. 

Aziraphale is off having his weekly tea with Anathema to discuss various occult beings or whatever they do, and Crowley is having a mental breakdown back in his apartment. 

"It's not like he doesn't love me," Crowley says to the fern nearest him, "He said he loved me. He said it. I heard him.”

It would help if you knew that Crowley was... what was the human term? Ah, yes, drunk off his ass. [2] 

[2. Hi, yes, author speaking. They would like to remind you that no matter how many times their girlfriend calls them an angel, they aren't, in fact, and what they are is a rather tired American teenager who is not well versed in writing an English accent or using English slang, so ‘drunk off his ass’ will have to do.] 

The fern says nothing.

“You're not very helpful,” Crowley slurs in the general vicinity of the poor plant. 

Again, nothing. 

And so Crowley keeps talking. 

"I wasn't - We weren't - we weren't even drunk! He was sober, and - and he told me he loved me," he continues, because who needs a therapist when you have potted plants? “I can’t believe - we haven’t even talked to each other since. Do you think he regrets it? What if he never even loved me and he just said it because I said it?”

The fern continues to say nothing, though it does so very supportively. 

Crowley keeps rambling for another hour or so before he falls asleep upside down on the couch, and the fern watches over him as best as a fern can do.

\--

About an hour earlier on the same day, in Witchfinder Cottage [3] in Tadfield, an angel and a witch are having tea. 

[3. Newt thought that this renaming was ironic since he’s found the witch already. Bear in mind, this is the same man who calls his car Dick Turpin.] 

The witch pours a bit more tea into her cup and asks, “So what’s going on with you and Crowley?”

Aziraphale sips his tea and says, "I'm quite sure I have no idea what you mean, dear girl."

Now, Anathema is American, but she is also Latina at heart. Her mother, when they weren't poring over Agnes's prophecies, would oftentimes watch old telenovelas with her and so Anathema is familiar with the idea of a grand, sweeping romance. 

In her heart, she truly believes that while Crowley and Aziraphale are meant for each other, they may need a little push to help them along the way. 

And so Anathema has a decision to make. Whether to tell Zira what is clear as day to her [4], or to let him be and just watch their great romance play out.

[4. And the rest of the world.] 

So, in the end, the American in her wins out and she says, rather straight to the point, "Az, I'm talking about the fact that you and Crowley are apparently just friends and that, my friend, is weird, considering the only thing your quite angelic aura is telling me right now is that you want to do it with Crowley."

Aziraphale chokes on his tea. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't play dumb. You've wanted to make out with him - or, I don't know, I mostly focused on the prophecies and so some of my ancestors might know more about that side of ethereal-slash-occult beings - or whatever you do with Crowley since... well, since ever," Anathema says, her face completely calm. 

"For the record," he replies, affronted, "I told Crowley that I loved him a week ago."

"And?" Anathema prompts, because she's not stupid and she's aware of just how strangely incompetent these immortal beings can be. 

"And what?"

She stares at him. "You're kidding. You do not just tell the guy you love him and then fuck off to my house for tea! I cannot believe you!” Anathema yells. 

Aziraphale is rather annoyed at her sudden outburst, but he can’t entirely blame her. “It’s all so… new.” 

“It’s not,” she says, rather idly. 

“What in the heavens do you mean, dear girl?” 

Anathema takes a sip of her tea. [5] “I mean, it’s not new. You two - I did tell you that the first time I met you, the time you ran me over with Crowley’s car, I thought you were a couple. In my slightly addled mind - you  _ had  _ just hit me with a car - you made an awfully cute one.”

[5. After she moved permanently to England, she started to enjoy it quite a bit.]

Zira sighs. "I - well - I do love him, Anathema. But there's a part of me that knows that I shouldn't." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I'm an angel!" he exclaims, and Anathema startles. "Because I'm an angel and he's a demon and we kissed and it was the most heavenly thing that's ever happened to me." 

She stares at him for a long time. “Aziraphale,” Anathema says slowly, “are you upset that you like Crowley or are you upset because you like a demon?”

“I - I - I don’t know,” he replies helplessly. 

“You’re a wreck.” 

“Well, I knew that.”

Anathema leans back in her chair, considering the angel in front of her. Most people could say that their mothers had taught them not to meddle, but her mom had taught her that her meddling in the affairs of other people was, in fact, the only way to save the world. And at this point, the world is saved. 

But she still likes to meddle.  

“I think,” she begins, “that you need to talk to Crowley. And when I say talk, I mean  _ talk _ , not kiss him.” 

“But what if -” 

Anathema hits her head against the table. “Oh my god, leave my house right now and go talk to him. I mean it.” 

Aziraphale does not bother to say goodbye, fearing what the young witch may say or do to him if he says another word to her before talking to Crowley. 

It’s only after she hears the door shut that Anathema trades out her jasmine tea, which has grown cold during her tirade about the relationship between the angel and the demon, for the nicest bottle of wine she and Newt own. 

\--

Crowley wakes up to knocking on his door. He bolts upright, quickly sobering himself and telling the fern next to him to never speak a word of what he told it. This is of no issue because it’s a fern and ferns do not talk. 

He opens the door, completely baffled as the only person who ever comes to his apartment is - 

“Aziraphale!” 

Zira smiles halfheartedly. 

“I thought you were at tea with Anathema,” Crowley says, trying to hide the excitement in his voice because it’s  _ Aziraphale _ and he’s  _ here _ !

“She, uh, she kicked me out. Can we talk?” Not waiting for an answer, Aziraphale walks in and sits down on the couch, motioning for Crowley to join him. As a rule, Crowley dislikes the word ‘puzzled’ because puzzles were invented by someone neither of Heaven or Hell, but it is truly the only word to describe what he is feeling right now. 

The other emotion he is feeling is ‘I want to fight Anathema for whatever she did to Aziraphale.’ [6] So he sits down and asks, “What did she do? Did you get in an argument? Do I need to fight her?” 

[6. Crowley does not care that Anathema is one of the saviors of the world and a ‘friend’ of his. He will kill her if she hurts Aziraphale.] 

“What? No, dear. She wanted me to… talk to you.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “And so I will. I love you, Crowley. I meant what I said. But I’m scared. Not of Heaven, not of Hell, but of the fact that I have known you for six thousand years and for the first time in my entire life our relationship is being tested in a way I never saw coming. I am terrified of losing you and losing what we have and when you told me you loved me I realized, for the first time in millennia, that the only thing that has ever really mattered to me on Earth is the fact that you and I were on this planet together. But I love you. I do. No matter whether you’re a demon or whether you’re Crowley or - or anything, really.” This is the only point he bothers to stop staring at his hands and look at Crowley. “And I spent six days thwarting the apocalypse and I nearly got kicked out of Heaven and the only thing I’m sure of right now is that I love you.” 

Crowley is fairly certain he physically cannot stop staring at Aziraphale. “Oh, angel.” 

“What?" 

"You're such a dork!" Crowley is unsure of whether he wants to laugh or cry. "Aziraphale! I had a breakdown because I thought you were lying about loving me! We really need to communicate," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. [7] 

[7. This is a habit that he's picked up that Aziraphale finds both arousing and annoying. Though, when it comes to Crowley, the line between those two is practically nonexistent.]

Aziraphale sighs. "We do." 

"But hey," says Crowley, snuggling up next to the angel -  _ his _ angel - and burying his face in Zira's soft curls, "we communicated. We win. So no one can fault me for just wanting to stay here and nap." 

"I still don't understand the value you put in sleep." 

The demon lets out a puff of air, blowing Aziraphale's curls into the air. "It's much more enjoyable when you're sleeping with someone." 

Aziraphale looks scandalized. "Crowley -" 

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, angel, I meant it the other way.” 

Zira lays his head down on top of Crowley’s, neither bothering to move until it was dinner and both of them felt that going out was an appropriate celebration for them figuring it out. 

It’s a month later when Aziraphale was having tea with Anathema when he mentions that he and Crowley were officially ‘dating’ now, and when she shrieks, “FINALLY!” and runs to tell Pepper that she owes her five dollars [8]. Pepper is rightly upset since it would have been two more days and then she would have won. Adam wasn’t aware they weren’t dating in the first place. Newt is glad Anathema will talk about something else for once. Brian and Wensleydale are not completely sure who Crowley and Aziraphale are, but they’re very happy for them. 

[8. Five dollars is quite a bit of money to Pepper. She was really hoping to win.] 

None of this matters to Crowley and Aziraphale, because finally,  _ finally,  _ they are completely and wholly each other's, and they are completely and wholly in love. 

**Author's Note:**

> whew you're done! congratulations on making it through the worst good omens fic ever. you did it. here's a cookie
> 
> follow my tumblr, where i am a good omens shitposter masquerading as a sanders sides blogger (@adultmorelikeadolt) 
> 
> and lots of love to you all! i thrive on kudos and comments and you don't want me to die do you


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